


Prime

by wincechesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accountant Castiel, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Implied Bottom Dean, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Realtor Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:19:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then Dean had shivered - actually fucking shivered, like he was some love-struck teenager - and Castiel had noticed. Something had changed in his expression, in the way he was holding his body, and his tongue had darted out to wet his chapped, dry lips and it was fucking <i>on</i>.</p><p>Since then, they’d fooled around in every apartment that Dean had shown Cas and Cas had subsequently rejected. And it’s not like Dean was doing it on purpose: picking places he knew Cas wouldn’t like so they could keep seeing each other and keep having sex like bunnies at every viewing.</p><p>Except, of course, he totally fucking was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I think you’re going to like this one,” Dean says, his voice confident as he bends slightly at the waist to extract the key from the lock box and insert it into the keyhole. “Seller's a single guy, no pets, non-smoker, kind of a health nut from what I hear. _Big_ place.” He turns the burnished silver handle of the apartment door and pushes it open, gesturing for his client to enter ahead of him. The guy glances up at him disparagingly before sweeping into the apartment, his ugly beige trenchcoat rippling behind him like the tax accountant version of a cape.

“I’m glad to hear you learned from the last one you showed me,” he says, studying the high ceilings and open concept as Dean turns to shut the door behind them and flicks on the bank of light switches beside the door.

The last place Dean had shown him had been the fourth floor equivalent of solitary confinement. It had freshly painted walls and a nice plush carpet and the building was well-maintained, but the single window in the entire place was about three feet wide and four feet tall, and opened up to a stunning view of the dingy, brown brick side of the adjacent building. It was one hundred percent totally wrong for Castiel; in fact, it was one hundred percent wrong for any human who liked to be able to walk more than ten steps from one side of their home to the other and look out the window and see - you know - the outside. Dean knew from the second they walked in that Cas would hate it. He probably _should_ have learned from the experience.

Except he hadn’t learned. At all.

Castiel moves into the center of the spacious living room, scanning the fancy, stainless steel outfitted kitchen and its shiny grey tile backsplash, his gaze trailing over black cabinets with rectangular metal handles. Everything in the place is stark and modern, all rectangular lines and sharp edges in stark white and crisp black and - just for some contrast - gunmetal grey. One wall is made entirely of glass, enormous windows stretching from floor to ceiling, and the view would be spectacular if not for the rows and rows of skyscrapers blocking the view of pretty much anything the city has to offer.

“Gas fireplace,” Dean notes, skirting the leather couch and stepping down into the living room to hit the switch on the wall. Neat orange flames flicker to life behind the glass, the sole sign of life in the stoic, orderly apartment. He taps the toe of his polished dress shoe against the floor. “And these are walnut floors, best you can buy. All the fancy treatments and surfacing and shit.”

“‘And shit’,” Cas repeats mildly, his tone so dry that Dean isn’t sure if he’s amused or offended or what. His client turns on the spot, his hands hanging limply at his sides with just his fingers showing out of the over-long sleeves of his coat, his expression never changing as he takes it all in. “Are you as professional with all your clients?”

Dean grins, catching Cas’ eyes before they dart away. “Nah, just the ones I like.”

It’s a nice place, Dean knows. It’s expensive, but Castiel can afford it; he knows that too. He also knows that it’s way too cold and bland and just as wrong for Castiel as the last place, and the one they went to last week, and all three of the places before that.

“Do you wanna see the rest of it?” Dean asks, his voice neutral.

Finally Cas drops his gaze from the high ceilings to look at Dean. “No,” he says simply, staring unblinkingly back at Dean. His face is impassive, impossibly blank, but Dean must be learning to read the guy, because he sees something there in Cas’ expression that makes his stomach muscles tighten in anticipation.

“So I take it you don’t like it?” Dean asks, taking a step forward, his fancy dress shoes clicking hollowly against the wooden floor.

Castiel’s eyes slide over him, heavy like a physical touch. “No,” he repeats. He pauses, then adds, “You’re a terrible realtor.”

That forces a laugh out of Dean’s chest. “I’m a damn good realtor, Cas,” he counters, moving another step closer and reaching out to grasp the lapel of Cas’ coat. “You’re just really fuckin’ hard to please.” His fingers close into a fist around a handful of the tan canvas.

Castiel swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the starched collar of his white button-down. “I’m really not. I just know what I want.”

Dean chuckles, the sound low and deep in his chest as he strokes the pad of his thumb over the surface of one of the buttons on Cas’ coat. Castiel wasn’t even supposed to have been his client, and only became so due to Dean’s boss’ complete and utter douchebaggery. Cas had been dealing pretty much exclusively with Zachariah, working to organize the sale of his current apartment and find a new one closer to his office. Dean had even seen him come through the office a few times but mostly thought nothing of the weird guy in the flasher coat who barely spoke or blinked and never smiled, just kind of _squinted_ at him in a distinctly disapproving way every time Dean had made a joke when he passed him on the way to the coffee maker.

But then Zachariah, the slimy mook, had foisted creepy-trenchcoat-guy off on Dean when he decided to take an extended vacation for no fucking reason at all. So Dean took over and creepy-trenchcoat-guy turned out to be named Castiel Novak, and he wound up being an okay guy, once you got him to actually open his mouth and “quit that freakin’ staring, Cas, you’re giving me a complex.”

And then of course, it had turned out that Cas had a mouth a pornstar would envy, and hands like a fuckin’ magician. Underneath the ill-fitting suit and dingy, too-large trenchcoat - seriously, the guy needed to learn how to buy clothes that fit - he had a taut, athletic body, coiled like a bowstring and just as responsive, and miles of smooth, tan skin. Dean had discovered all of this when he took Cas to his first viewing, and Cas announced in the driest voice imaginable that Dean must be out of his mind.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Dean had barked back, defensive, getting all up in Castiel’s face, glaring the few scant inches down into his enormous blue eyes.

“You know exactly what it means,” Castiel had replied in a controlled, commanding voice. “This place is terrible,” he said, his breath ghosting hot over Dean’s lips.

And then Dean had shivered - actually fucking _shivered_ , like he was some love-struck teenager - and Castiel had noticed. Something had changed in his expression, in the way he was holding his body, and his tongue had darted out to wet his chapped, dry lips and it was fucking _on._

Since then, they’d fooled around in every apartment that Dean had shown Cas and Cas had subsequently rejected. And it’s not like Dean was doing it on purpose: picking places he knew Cas wouldn’t like so they could keep seeing each other and keep having sex like bunnies at every viewing.

Except, of course, he totally fucking was.

Now, Dean gives a tug on Cas’ coat until the man steps forward into his space, their chests brushing through the fabric of their clothing. “You don’t got a clue, Cas. This here’s prime real estate. A lotta people would kill to live in a place like this.”

“Clearly I am not one of those people,” Cas replies, his hands still resolutely at his sides, even as he leans into the heat of Dean’s body, his eyes darkening as he stares unblinkingly at Dean’s face.

Dean tilts his head, ducking in to graze his open mouth over the bolt of Cas’ jaw. “C’mon, Cas,” he whispers, his voice is low and husky. “There must be something you like about it. Can’t get you what you want if you don’t tell me what you like.” His mouth curls into a satisfied smile when he feels Cas suppress a shiver against his cheek. He works his way down, his lips skimming against the first prickles of five o’clock shadow beginning to darken the sharp line of Cas’ jaw and down the arched column of his neck as he leans back to give Dean access.

“I like the windows,” Cas admits breathlessly, his lashes fluttering against his cheek at the press of Dean’s lips to his throat. “And the fireplace.”

Dean hums against Cas’ pulse point. “See, now we’re getting somewhere.” Dean releases the front of Cas’ coat and slides both of his hands up his shoulders to cup the back of Cas’ neck, tugging him forward so Dean can press their lips together.

Cas’ mouth is warm, opening willingly beneath Dean’s and he groans into the kiss, his hands finally coming up to sweep aside Dean’s suit jacket and move around to splay over his back and press them closer together. His teeth nip at Dean’s lower lip, tugging sharply, and then he smooths it over with his tongue, sweeping into Dean’s mouth to claim it. One of Cas’ hands drops down to grab Dean’s ass, tugging their hips together, and Dean squeezes a hand between them to pull Cas’ shirt out of his pants and then down to cup Cas’ hard-on through his pants, making him gasp and buck into Dean’s palm.

Dean draws back, ignoring Cas’ grumbled protest to arch an eyebrow down at the other man. “So, the windows, huh?” He smirks and winds Cas’ tie around his fist, stepping backwards and drawing Cas along with him towards the wide bank of windows covering the south wall. He stops, pulling Cas’ tie free and tossing it heedlessly over his shoulder. The trenchcoat gets shoved off of Cas’ shoulders and Dean ducks in to kiss him again as he works the buttons of Cas’ shirt free, then drops to his knees in front of him.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, his fingers carding through Dean’s hair as Dean looks up at him through lowered lashes. His hands go to Cas’ belt, pulling it free of the buckle and then moving to unbuckle his pants by touch.

Dean grins up at Cas. “What does it look like I’m doing?” He shoves Cas’ pants and boxers down past his knees and runs his hands back up Cas’ legs, smoothing over the fine hairs of his well-muscled thighs. He wonders if Cas runs or swims or what, because he’s the fittest tax accountant Dean’s ever met, and it strikes Dean that he knows next to nothing about the guy besides his taste in real estate that Dean’s steadfastly ignoring. He doesn’t know what Cas likes to eat or if he’s a morning person or what he likes to do when he’s not at work crunching numbers or looking at totally unsuitable apartments that Dean sets up viewings for.

Dean pushes the thought out of his mind because it’s not like they’re dating or in a relationship. Dean isn’t Cas’ boyfriend, he’s Cas’ realtor and possibly his fuck buddy; he knows what he has to know. And what he knows right now is that Cas is deliciously, almost disturbingly hot, and he’s standing mostly naked in front of him, his erection mere inches from Dean’s face, a thought that makes Dean’s mouth water.

“Someone could see us,” Cas says huskily as Dean slides his hands over Cas’ hips, purposefully avoiding his cock to stroke up the flat stomach and tease the lean lines of muscle.

He shrugs, shooting a grin up at Cas as his hands skim back to the hard angles of Cas’ hips beneath the open wings of his button-down. “Who cares? They’re not gonna be your neighbors. What’s the worst that could happen?” The sun is dipping low behind the buildings as evening approaches and that combined with the the bright lights in the stark apartment mean that anyone who happened to glance this way would see them: Cas standing with his shirt open and his pants and boxers around his ankles, Dean on his knees with Cas’ cock in his mouth, slowly taking the man apart inch by inch, framed like a picture for prying eyes. The thought of being watched shouldn’t make Dean harder but it does, and he rolls his hips abortively into the empty air at the thought, stifling the groan that rumbles up his throat.

“Do you have an exhibitionism kink, Dean?” Cas asks, his fingers still sliding through the short strands of Dean’s hair, and when Dean looks back up at him, Cas’ stare is dark, hungry.

 _Yes_. “Maybe,” Dean replies, licking his lips as he leers up at Cas. Cas opens his mouth to reply, no doubt with some smartass comment, but he doesn’t get a chance because that’s when Dean parts his lips over the head of Cas’ cock, and all that comes out of Cas’ mouth is a low moan.

Dean digs his fingers into Cas’ hips, waiting for his eyes to snap back open before he slides his mouth down over Cas’ length. He knows he looks good like this, has been told so on multiple occasions, so he keeps his gaze locked on Cas’, looking up at him through lowered lashes, Cas’ cock a heavy weight against his tongue. Cas’ irises are reduced to a thin ring of blue around pupils blown wide with need as he watches Dean’s lips move over his length, and Dean moans as he bobs his head, loving the involuntary hitch of Cas’ hips at the vibration. He would smirk, if his mouth weren’t full of tax accountant dick.

Dean pulls all the way back to suckle at the head, tonguing underneath the crown before sinking back down over the shaft and swallowing the burst of tangy precome. He relaxes his throat and takes even more in, working past his gag reflex until his nose is nestled at the base, his throat full of Cas’ cock.

“Holy shit,” Cas chokes out, “so good, Dean, ahh-” the words breaking off in a moan as Dean swallows around the head. Dean sweeps one of his hands from Cas’ hip inwards to the crease of his thigh, dragging his fingers through the coarse hair and down to cup Cas’ balls, tugging downward gently as he hollows his cheeks and sucks hard at Cas’ cock.

Cas’ hips buck forwards at the suction and Dean has to pull back before he gags. He wraps his hand around the shaft of Cas’ dick and pulls back, swiping his tongue over the head to catch the string of precome that drips from the slit.

“Why did you stop?” Cas demands and Dean chuckles, leaning back in to kiss the head of Cas’ cock.

“Want you to fuck my mouth,” he says, looking up at Cas with a challenge in his eyes. “Think you can manage that?”

Cas groans, his fingers tightening in Dean’s hair and dragging him forward, positioning him to take Cas’ dick again. Dean opens his mouth and extends his tongue, staring up at Cas, who thrusts forwards into Dean’s mouth with a smooth jerk of his hips. Dean lets his jaw go slack, his lips tight around the hard length of Cas’ erection. Little puffs of air burst past Cas’ lips, little sighs and near-moans, and Dean’s fingers wrap around Cas’ hips, digging into the flesh of Cas’ ass, feeling the flex under the pads of his fingers as Cas thrusts rhythmically into Dean’s mouth. He hopes that he’s leaving bruises behind, ten little round marks that Cas will see in the mirror when he gets out of the shower in the morning and think of Dean. Maybe he’ll get hard just looking at them, remembering what they’re doing now.

His own dick is throbbing in the confines of his pants, uncomfortable and straining, and he drops a hand to his belt, working it loose and yanking down the zipper one-handed. He shoves his boxers down below his balls and his erection springs free; he curls his fingers around it, jacking himself in time to Cas’ thrusts.

“Yes, Dean, fuck,” Cas growls, his hips working faster, his cock slamming past Dean’s lips. “Fuck into your fist for me.” Dean groans around Cas’ dick at the words, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as his eyes roll back, and saliva slipping past his lips and dripping down over his chin. He jerks his fist faster over his length, twisting around the head, feeling the curling pressure building in his abdomen.

He knows when Cas is close when his muscles tense under his hand, his body seizing up as the wave of his pleasure rips through him. He chokes out a warning, and Dean forces himself to look up because he wants to watch Cas fall apart, challenging him with his gaze, daring Cas to come in his mouth. Their eyes meet for one charged moment, and then Cas shudders, his hips jerking erratically. He arches backwards, the muscles of his stomach standing out in tight lines under his open shirt. “Yes, Dean!” he gasps out, his mouth falling open, and then he thrusts deep into Dean’s mouth and comes, his release hitting the back of Dean’s throat in hot strings.

Cas draws his dick out of Dean’s mouth, his hands slipping out of Dean’s hair and falling to his shoulders as he breathes through the aftershocks. Dean whimpers involuntarily, his hand working faster over his own length and Cas turns to stare at Dean with a burning intensity.

Fisting his hands in Dean’s suit jacket, he drags him to his feet and bats Dean’s hand away from his cock. Ignoring Dean’s protests, he swipes his tongue over his palm and lowers it to wrap strong, slender fingers around Dean’s shaft. “You liked that didn’t you,” he says, tightening his fist and jerking it over the head, precome and spit making the slip easy, the friction perfect. “On your knees in a stranger’s apartment in front of all these windows.” He twists his hand and Dean gasps, his head falling back as he bucks his hips into Cas’ hand. “You just loved that anyone could look across the street and see you sucking me off, me fucking your face.”

“Yeah, Cas, shit,” Dean groans, his hips whipping forward to meet Cas’ fist, his own hands clinging hard to Cas’ shoulders.

Cas leans forward, pressing his mouth to Dean’s ear, still stripping Dean’s cock at a brutal pace. “Next time, I want to fuck you,” he says, his voice low and dirty, “bend you over someone’s couch and fuck you until you come,” and Dean’s breath catches at the words _next time_ , because neither of them had ever made any reference to continuing whatever the fuck it is they’re doing, not out loud anyway. But Dean wants to keep going, he wants to so bad, and he finds himself spiralling higher into pleasure at the thought of next time, of what other things they could do together.

“You’re so good, Dean. You don’t even know what you do to me.” Then Cas snags Dean’s earlobe between his teeth and that’s all it takes for Dean’s orgasm to roar through his body, his come dripping over Cas’ fingers to fall on the spotless hardwood floor as a harsh cry bursts from his lips. Cas curls his free hand around Dean’s neck and kisses him, his tongue sweeping possessively against Dean’s, and Dean presses into the solid warmth of his body, letting Cas hold him up as his body tingles and jerks through the waves of his pleasure. Cas doesn’t stop stroking him, working him through his orgasm until Dean becomes too sensitive and pushes his hand away, and that’s when Cas pulls back, but only to suck Dean’s come off his fingers, his eyes never leaving Dean’s as he does it.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean breathes, sliding his hands down the crisp cotton of Cas’ shirt and Cas squeezes the back of his neck with the hand that’s still resting there. He presses a last kiss to Dean’s temple and chuckles before he steps away.

Dean cleans his come off the floor with wet paper towels, shoving them down deep into the garbage can under the sink to hide the evidence of their indiscretion. Somehow, Dean had managed to remain mostly clothed but he tugs everything back into place as Cas gets dressed, both sneaking glances at each other in between straightening ties and buckling belts. Finally Dean looks up at Cas, opening his mouth to say _something_ , he’s not quite sure what, and a laugh bursts out of him when he gets a good look at Cas.

The man pauses midway through tucking his shirt back into his slacks, a tiny smile twitching on his flushed, kiss-swollen lips. “What?”

Dean shakes his head. “You’re a fucking mess, man.” Still chuckling, Dean steps forward to re-tie Cas’ tie, which had somehow ended up backwards, and straighten the collar of his shirt around it. Cas lets him, cocking his head to the side to study Dean’s face as he does it. Dean smooths the tie against Cas’ shirt front, letting his fingers trail over the fabric, and he looks up at the mess he’d made of Castiel’s hair. He considers combing his fingers through it, trying to tame it down into something a little less obviously sex-induced but he decides that might be toeing the line of too familiar, which yeah, is kind of laughable considering that Cas’ dick was in his mouth not ten minutes earlier.

He clears his throat and steps away, tugging the lapels of his jacket into place and buttoning it around his waist. “So, uh, I’ll set up some more viewings this week and let you know when they are. Maybe I can find something that’ll satisfy your picky ass.”

Castiel arches an eyebrow. “I think you know exactly what would satisfy my ass,” he replies dryly and Dean chokes out a laugh as his dick gives a feeble twitch inside his pants at the innuendo.

“Shut up, Cas,” he says around his grin. Cas’ lips press together in a thin line as he suppresses his answering smile, his expression bright and mischievous as he passes Dean on the way to the door.

Dean locks the door behind them, returning the key to the lock box and they make their way back down to the street, taking the elevator in silence. Out front, Cas steps up to the curb, raising one slender hand to hail a taxi on its way past.

“So, I’ll call you,” Dean says, turning to head to where he’d parked the Impala at a meter a block or so down as Cas reaches down to open the door of the cab. Looking down at his watch, Dean realizes that he’s gone over the half hour he paid for at the meter - apparently he hadn’t been quite optimistic enough about what was going to go on today - and hopes that he doesn’t have a parking ticket waiting for him.

“Dean.”

Dean stops, turning on his heel to look back at his client who’s paused with one hand perched on the open door of the cab and the other resting on the roof. “Yeah, Cas?”

Castiel studies him for a minute, his eyes gliding down Dean’s body before they flit back up to meet Dean’s. “Book another viewing for tomorrow,” he says, his voice low and full of promise, leaving Dean’s mouth dry.

“Yeah all right,” Dean replies gruffly, swallowing hard against the rush of want that burns through him. Cas nods succinctly, lips pressing together in a self-satisfied smirk, before he slides into the car and shuts the door behind him.

Dean turns on his heel and starts back down the street, his mind already racing to what they could do tomorrow and where they could do it. He thinks he remembers seeing a listing that Tessa had up that has a jacuzzi tub. He imagines Cas naked and wet and coiled around him in a giant tub, Dean riding him at a slow, leisurely pace so he can feel every inch of Cas’ cock stretching and filling him, water lapping around their bodies.

 _Yeah_ , he thinks with a grin as he unlocks the door of the Impala and slips inside. _That could be fun._ And maybe he pulls his baby away from the curb a little more enthusiastically than usual, rushing home so that he can sit down at the kitchen table and make some calls before dinnertime.

He’s got an appointment to make.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Over a year after I published the first part of this, you get a chapter two. Much punctual!
> 
> There will probably be one??????????? more chapter of this, but I've marked it as complete for now since I don't know when it'll go up, and it does read as a complete work right now. Hopefully it won't take me another year.
> 
> Thank you so much to [Sandra](http://casblues.tumblr.com) for your suggestions and the confidence boost (you can all thank Sandra for the necessity of the "anal fingering" tag) and to my beloved [Meg](http://myplaceofgreatestsafety.tumblr.com) as always for beta <333

The offices of Adler Realty are slow this time of day, with only a few desks in the room occupied and the rest of Dean’s co-workers out on viewings or meetings with clients. Ellie’s on the phone, nodding along with whoever she’s listening to while she scribbles notes on a yellow legal pad, and Charlie’s staring raptly at her computer monitor, clicking away at the keyboard, but she perks up when Dean swishes past her towards his desk, her nose in the air like a hound scenting game.

“Get your own,” Dean preempts as he tosses the paper bag containing his lunch down on his desk, shrugging out of his dark grey suit jacket and draping it over the back of his chair. The bag is already soaking through with grease, and Dean’s stomach growls at the smell that wafts out as he digs out his burger.

Charlie pouts. “You’re no fun.”

“Yeah well, tough. I’m friggin’ starving.”

He’d had appointments all morning and he was taking his lunch late, and he’d been looking forward to this burger since he rolled out of bed. Toasted sesame seed bun, homemade all-beef patty, cheese so processed you couldn’t even call it dairy anymore, and two slices of bacon, crisped to perfection. He actually moans around the first bite, his eyes sliding closed in bliss as he chews. He follows that with a quick second bite. It’s going to be over too fast if he keeps going at this rate, but he’s too hungry and the burger is just too damn good to take his time.

“That’s disgusting,” Charlie comments, deadpan, an expression of mild horror on her face as she watches, and Dean just grins sloppily around a mouthful of heaven. She rolls her eyes and directs her attention back to her computer.

He’s in the process of bringing the burger back up to his mouth for his third bite when he’s interrupted by the insistent buzzing of his phone against his elbow. He pauses, frowning down at the screen of his phone, none too happy about being interrupted during his lunch.

That all changes when he sees who’s calling, though.

It’s embarrassing how quickly his priorities switch from his empty stomach and the quarter-pound of deliciousness in his hands to his suddenly interested dick when he sees the name ‘NOVAK’ flash on the screen. He drops the burger back onto its wrapper and hastily wipes off his fingers, swiping the screen and raising the phone to his ear. “Cas?”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s lips curl into a grin before he manages to school his expression, and he flicks a wary glance over at Charlie, satisfied when he sees the redhead firmly immersed in whatever she’s doing on her computer. If he knows Charlie, which he does, she’s probably playing WoW. “What’s up, man? Don’t we have an appointment tonight?”

It’s a rhetorical question; Dean knows damn well that they have an appointment tonight. It’s been two days since their last one and Dean’s been counting the minutes. He’s shown Castiel seven different places now, all of them too large (“I don’t want to spend all my time off cleaning the damn thing, Dean”) or too small (“I wear suits every day to work, as do you. I’m sure you can see the problem with this miniscule closet situation”) or too _brown_ (“How the fuck can an apartment be too _brown_ , Cas?” “How do you _think_ , Dean?”). But it had all worked out in the end because they’d fucked in all of them. His appointments with Cas had become synonymous with sex _—_ fucking amazing, earth-shattering sex, too _—_ and while neither of them seemed interested in discussing it, they were both in agreement on the subject: when they had an appointment, one or both of them would end up at least partially naked, someone’s dick would be in someone’s hands or mouth or ass, and both of them would be going home fucked-out and happy.

“Actually, that’s what I’m calling about,” Castiel says with a weary sigh. “One of my co-workers has unexpectedly resigned and I’ve been enlisted to work overtime tonight.”

Dean laughs at the sheer unimpressedness of Cas’ tone. “Well that blows. I hope they’re gonna make it up to you.”

“I’ll be compensated,” Castiel confirms grimly. “In any case, I won’t be able to make our appointment tonight, so we’ll have to reschedule.”

Castiel sounds genuinely regretful, and Dean barely stops himself from whining. Two days _—two days_ since their last appointment and the entire time he’s been thinking about Cas’ hands and his mouth and his dick and practically gagging for it, and now he’s going to have to wait again.

“No problem, buddy,” he forces himself to say anyway. “I’ll reschedule it, text you the time?”

“Thank you. Though if it’s your idea of the kind of apartment I would want, I highly doubt I would be very interested in it, anyway.”

Dean swallows audibly, his fingers tightening around his phone where it’s pressed tight to his ear. He should be pissed off at Cas’ tone, the implication that he doesn’t know how to do his job. He should. But instead, he’s getting inexplicably hard against his thigh, his dress pants suddenly too tight, and since when did Castiel pissing on his ability to pick places become a turn on?

 _Probably when you started fucking at every place that he didn’t like_ , a little voice inside him chimes in helpfully. _And you’ve been showing him a hell of a lot of places he ain’t gonna like._

Dean flicks a glance up at the room at large before surreptitiously adjusting himself in his pants. “You _—_ uh. You sure you can’t make it?”

“Unfortunately,” Castiel replies, and this time there’s actually a note of regret in his voice that Dean feels all the way down to the heat pooling in his stomach.

He nods, even though Cas can’t see him. “Yeah, all right,” he says gruffly. “I’ll let you get back to work, then.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

“Hey, wait a second, Cas!” Dean jumps in impulsively before Castiel can hang up.

“Yes?”

Dean grins. “Don't work too hard, okay? You know what they say about 'all work and no play,’ huh, Jack?”

"Who's Jack?"

"My point exactly," Dean laments teasingly, rolling his eyes with a chuckle. “Nevermind, just _—_ take it easy, Cas."

Castiel huffs into the phone. “I’ll try,” he says, a reluctant smile in his voice, and then he’s gone.

Dean replaces the phone on his desk, thinking regretfully of Cas working away in some dark basement instead of checking out the _—_ truthfully, extremely unsuitable _—_ apartment Dean had lined up for them to view. He sighs down at his still half-hard dick, which hasn’t quite gotten the memo yet that neither of them are getting what they wanted tonight.

He forces his attention back to his lunch, pausing with his hands hovering over his burger when he sees Charlie staring over at him with raised eyebrows. He scowls. “What?”

“That was a _business_ call, was it?” she asks teasingly, waggling shapely red eyebrows in his direction.

“Of course,” Dean snaps back at her. “What other kind of call would it be?” He ignores the flush creeping up the back of his neck and fights the urge to shift uncomfortably in his chair. Charlie’s harmless, and probably his best friend aside from Sam; she’s not gonna get him in trouble _—_ though she probably _would_ tease him mercilessly.

She throws her hands into the air in silent surrender, dragging her gaze back to her computer, a badly-suppressed smirk tugging at her lips.

Dean redirects his attention back to his burger and refuses to meet Charlie’s gaze for the rest of the day.

* * *

With Cas’ appointment cancelled, Dean’s evening is suddenly wide open. While he’s disappointed in the distinct lack of sex he’ll be having due to the change in plans, by the time he walks in the door of his own apartment, he actually finds himself looking forward to a relaxing evening at home. He gets a little work done _—_ confirming a few appointments for tomorrow and browsing through some new listings, finally sending a text to Castiel with some possible dates and times to reschedule their appointment _—_ before relocating from his kitchen table to the living room.

He’s changed out of his stuffy suit into sweats and his rattiest band t-shirt (he thinks it used to be Metallica but the logo has long since worn away to almost nothing), his feet bare and stretched out in front of him. He skypes with Sam for an hour, listening to his little brother go on and on about this girl Jess he’s got a crush on, before he orders a pizza all to himself and eats it on the couch, the box open on the cushion next to him and TSN on the TV.

And as much as Dean would rather be out in some stranger’s apartment getting fucked by the disturbingly hot accountant who ditched his appointment to work late like the nerd he is, overall, it’s not a bad evening.

He’s half asleep, barely listening to the TV droning on in the background, a nearly-empty beer bottle resting loosely in his hand and balanced on his thigh, when his phone vibrates on the end table beside him. He jumps at the noise, barely catching the bottle and setting it safely on the end table, swiping the screen of his phone to glance at the new message.

_NOVAK: I apologize for not responding sooner. I just got home._

Dean checks the time in the top right corner of his phone screen and curses. 10:57 pm and the guy's just getting home from work? He wipes the pizza grease from his hand onto the thigh of his sweatpants and types a reply.

_Dean: wow, shitty. rough night?_

_NOVAK: Yes. Did I wake you?_

_Dean: no, was just watching some tv. you wanna talk appointments?_

_NOVAK: Not tonight._

Dean frowns down at his phone. If the guy didn’t want to discuss rescheduling the viewing, why are they talking? His phone vibrates again in his hand and it’s remarkably uncool how quickly he lifts it to view Cas’ next message.

_NOVAK: But I find myself very disappointed I didn’t get to see whatever terrible apartment you had planned for me to view tonight._

Dean blinks. Rubs his eyes. Blinks again.

Is Castiel… flirting with him? By text message? The guy’s so hard to figure out that it’s just as likely Dean’s reading the signs wrong, but his body’s way ahead of his brain, heat rolling through his belly and his cock giving a hopeful twitch in his sweatpants. What else could the guy mean, texting him at 11 pm with a message like that? Dean licks his lips, typing out a response and hitting send before he can talk himself out of it.

_Dean: you should be it was pretty fuckin ugly_

He tosses his phone on the couch cushion beside him, feeling cheesy and nervous and goddamn ridiculous for sending what is probably the weirdest sext in the history of text messaging to his _client_. (He’s also, incidentally, probably the least professional realtor in the history of realtors, but whatever.) He’s embarrassed enough that he ignores his phone when it vibrates on the cushion next to him, until the first vibration blends into the next and he realizes it’s not a text _—_ Cas is calling him.

“Hey,” Dean says into the phone, pulling it away from his mouth to punch the speakerphone button and balance it on the arm rest next to him. He mutes the TV, his heart loud in his ears and his throat suddenly dry.  

“Tell me about this ugly apartment,” Cas demands without preamble, his voice low and husky and full of intent that makes Dean’s skin flush with heat.

“Uh.” Dean shifts, swallows. “Well it was pretty much a hole in the wall, man. Kitchen, one bedroom, tiny-ass bathroom. Had a nice balcony though, figured you’d like that at least.”

Cas hums, and Dean reaches down to press the heel of his hand against his dick where it’s hardening in his pants, his other hand dipping under the hem of his t-shirt to trail across his skin. Later he’ll probably laugh about how discussing a listing is enough to get him hard _—_ what the hell has his life become? _—_ but he’s too on board with whatever the fuck’s going on right now to question it.

“I do like balconies,” Cas says. “Could I fuck you over the railing, do you think?”

Dean splutters, choking on his laugh as shocked arousal races through him. “Jesus, Cas, you don’t waste time, do you?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yeah,” Dean says shakily, and gives himself a rough squeeze through his sweats. “Nice and wide, perfect height. I could lean my arms on the ledge.”

“Good,” Cas says, a low rumble, and Dean has to stifle a groan, pushing his pants and boxers low on his thighs, curling his fingers around his cock. “I think I would have, if we had gone there today. Or maybe I would have sucked you off,” Cas amends thoughtfully, his voice dark and hot.  “I’d push you up against that balcony and suck you until you come so hard you can barely stand anymore.”

“Jesus,” Dean breathes, starting to stroke, working himself to full hardness. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it ain’t nice to tease?”

Cas laughs darkly and Dean’s eyes roll up into his head at the sound. “But you like it,” Cas says, and it’s not a question, and this time it’s Dean’s turn to laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah I do.” He drops his head against the backrest behind him, his loose fist moving slowly and steadily up and down his shaft, not fast enough to bring himself off. He wants this to last.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies, feeling his face flush as he answers. He tightens his fist on the upstroke as if in demonstration, wishing Cas were here to see it, letting him hear his gasp through the phone. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Cas says huskily. “Tell me, Dean. Tell me what you’re doing.”

 _Holy shit._  “I’m, uh. I’m on my couch. My hand’s on my dick.” He strokes over the head, spreading precome down his length and biting his lip against a moan. “You got me so hard and wet already.”

“I bet you’re beautiful,” Cas says, low. “I wish I was there.”

“Wish you were, too,” Dean chokes out, heat spreading through his chest, up into his cheeks with mingled embarrassment and arousal. “Want your hands on me.”

Cas takes a shaky breath and the sound goes straight to Dean’s cock. “Where do you want me to touch you?” Cas asks.  
Dean’s eyes flutter closed and he imagines Cas here with him, straddling his lap, pressing him down into the couch cushions. He imagines Cas’ deft fingers trailing over his skin, maybe the bite of his fingernails as he presses them into the flesh of Dean’s thighs, his hips, his shoulders. He can’t decide. He wants everything; he wants it all.

“Everywhere,” Dean admits fervently. “Fucking everywhere, Cas.”

“Mmm,” Cas hums. “I want that too. I haven’t touched all of you, yet. Maybe next time I will.” Dean’s heart leaps into his throat at the _yet_ and the _next time_ , the promise of more. “But tonight you’ll have to do it for me.”

Dean’s breath catches but Cas isn’t done. “Touch yourself for me, Dean,” he commands. “Run your hand up your stomach, over your chest, your neck, your jaw.” Dean obeys, dragging his t-shirt up with the tantalizing glide of his fingertips, rucking it up under his arms. His own fingers don’t feel as good as Cas’ but it’s better than nothing, and he closes his eyes, imagining that it’s Cas’ hand on him, Cas’ fingers trailing over the vault of his ribs, Cas’ thumb skating over his nipple, stroking it in tantalizing circles.

“Cas,” Dean whines, arching his back as he rolls his nipple between thumb and forefinger. Cas groans his reply, the slick sound of skin on skin clear through the phone as he works himself. Dean can almost see it: Cas’ dark head thrown back and blue eyes shut tight, taut body arching as he fucks into his own fist, free hand clutching at the bedsheets or maybe caressing his balls, his cock flushed dark and hard as it slips through his grip.

Dean’s hand speeds up, twisting around the head of his dick. “Fuck, you’re hot. I wanna do that, Cas, I wanna jerk you off. _God,_ I would fuckin’ kill to get my hands on you right now.”

Cas chokes out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan. “I’d let you,” he says. “I like your hands on me.”

Something about this feels dangerous, like they’re crossing out of fuck-buddy territory into something more. But rather than making Dean hesitate, the thought just makes him hotter, a flush spreading over his chest, racing over his skin. He finds himself wishing that they were more than just whatever the fuck they are, that he could call Cas and invite him over so they could touch for real. But they’re not and he can’t, so he forces the thought away, losing himself in the rough twist of his hand over his cock, the pinch of his fingers on his nipple.

“You know what else I would do if I were there?” Cas continues huskily. “I would finger you open, fuck you with my fingers. I know how much you love it.” Dean groans brokenly at the mental image, imagining those long, gorgeous fingers slipping in and out of his slick hole, and he has to squeeze his cock hard around the base to keep from coming right then.

“Please,” Dean moans and Cas’ breath hitches at the sound.

“Suck on your fingers. Get them wet for me.”

 _Yes._ A shiver rushes down Dean’s spine at the command and he pushes his fingers past his lips, sliding his tongue between them and sucking obscenely so Cas can hear through the phone.

“Good,” Cas says. “Now I want you to finger yourself.”

“Shit,” Dean groans, pulling his fingers out of his mouth and moving his hand down his body, trailing down his straining dick and over his balls again to circle his hole. He wrenches his eyes closed and imagines Cas' finger circling him, nudging the tight ring of muscle and finally breaking through, pushing in gently to the first knuckle.

"Cas," he moans again, “feels so good,” and he hears Cas' breath hitch on the other end. He slides his spit-slick finger in deeper, ignoring the burn as he pumps slowly in and out, resuming the stroke of his hand over his cock to ease the slight sting. When the burn gives way to pleasure, he eases in another finger _—_ too quickly but he’s impatient, needing to feel the fullness of his own fingers. He works his fingers slowly, then faster, circling until he finds his prostate. His hips jerk upwards at the contact and he makes a pitiful sound and is rewarded when Cas chokes out a moan.

"Fuck," Cas says, and the curse is so unexpected and so hot on Cas' lips and Dean circles frantically on the bump inside himself, his hand tightening as it moves over his erection.

The heat building under Dean’s skins crests, arrowing down between his legs and pulling his balls up tight, his back bowing off the couch as the muscles in his stomach tense. And suddenly _—_ “I’m close,” Dean gasps, “Cas, fuck, I’m gonna come,” and he speeds the motion of his hand, stripping his cock at a brutal pace as he rubs against his prostate.

“Do it,” Cas growls, “I want to hear it,” and _fuck_ , but Dean does, his mouth falling open on desperate ragged breaths as he splashes up over his hand, striping his stomach and chest and coating his own fist. And somehow, through the roar of his own orgasm, he hears _—_ and fucking loves it _—_ when Cas curses and gasps Dean’s name and comes, too.

Dean pants hazily through the aftershocks, slumping back against the cushions, his body heavy as his hand slows and finally stops, pulling his fingers gingerly from his fucked-out hole. His heart is a lazy drumbeat in his ears, and he wipes his come-covered hand on his t-shirt, listening to the sounds of Cas’ own harsh breathing as he comes down from his high. They’re quiet in the aftermath, and Dean picks up his phone from the armrest where it had managed to miraculously remain perched through their entire encounter, switching off the speakerphone and pressing it to his ear.

He scrambles for something to say as he hikes his pants and boxers back up over his softening dick. _Thanks for the phone sex, don’t forget to text me about the listings_ doesn’t quite cut it, for some reason. He’s warm and flushed from his orgasm but somehow he feels a little cold without the warmth of Cas’ body to curl into, without his soft, plush lips to kiss. But he can’t say that either, because he’s not even supposed to be thinking things like that. Cas is his _client_ , and incidentally also his convenient fuck; he’s not supposed to be thinking about post-coital _cuddling_ for Christ’s sake.

Finally he settles on, “So that make up for not seeing that shitty place earlier?”

Cas chuckles, and the sound is warm and it makes Dean grin. “Almost,” he says. “I think in person is still the best way to enjoy a terrible apartment.”

Dean’s surprised by his own laugh. “Hey, you’re the one that ditched our appointment.”

“I know. But I look forward to our next one.”

There it is again, the reminder that they’re not done with each other, and Dean tries to ignore the happy swell of warmth in his chest at the words. “If we move fast I can still get us in to see the one from today. With the balcony,” he says, face heating as he thinks about Cas’ suggestions for said balcony. In explicit detail. His dick twitches in a valiant effort to fill again, though there’s no way he’s getting it up again that fast.

“Good,” Cas says, his voice dark with promise. “I’ll text you.”

“‘Kay. Bye Cas.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean hangs up the phone and shoves himself to his feet, stretching languidly. His entire body feels heavy and sated, and he knows he’s going to sleep damn good tonight. He’s not sure how long this little game of theirs can go on, and eventually he’s probably going to have to actually do his job and help Castiel find a place to, you know, _live_. But for now, he’s just going to keep hanging on for the ride.

He passes out practically before his head hits his pillow, a smile on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I hope it was worth the wait, and hopefully there will be a (proper) conclusion soon! I'm on [Tumblr](http://wincechesters.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](http://twitter.com/winceywonk) if you want to say hi!


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